up. And because he knew that he had let out the truth he was embarrassed. They sat in awkward silence. To Susie the tragic figure in front of her was singularly impressive amid that lighthearted throng: all about them happy persons were enjoying the good things of life, talking, laughing, and making merry. She wondered what refinement of self-torture had driven him to choose that place to come to. He must hate it.
When they finished luncheon, Susie took her courage in both hands.
“Won’t you come back to my rooms for half an hour? We can’t talk here.”
He made an instinctive motion of withdrawal, as though he sought to escape. He did not answer immediately, and she insisted.
“You have nothing to do for an hour, and there are many things I want to speak to you about.”
“The only way to be strong is never to surrender to one’s weakness,” he said, almost in a whisper, as though ashamed to talk so intimately.
“Then you won’t come?”
“No.”
It was not necessary to specify the matter which it was proposed to discuss. Arthur knew perfectly that Susie wished to talk of Margaret, and he was too straightforward to pretend otherwise. Susie paused for one moment.
“I was never able to give Margaret your message. She did not write to me.”
A certain wildness came into his eyes, as if the effort he made was almost too much for him.
